


Checking Out the Competition

by A Magiluna Stormwriter (ariestess)



Series: #666foryou [556]
Category: American Horror Story: Murder House, Damien (TV)
Genre: Antichrist, Canon Compliant, Confrontations, Gen, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:51:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8735566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/pseuds/A%20Magiluna%20Stormwriter
Summary: "Satan doesn't like it when His power is flaunted falsely."





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KryssiKakes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryssiKakes/gifts).



> Date Written: 30 November 2016  
> Word Count: 1653  
> Written for: KryssiKakes  
> Prompt: "something with Ann checking out the claims about Constance Langdon raising a supposed Antichrist"  
> Summary: "Satan doesn't like it when His power is flaunted falsely."  
> Spoilers: Pre-series speculation and backstory for _Damien_ , and post-series for _American Horror Story: Murder House_. Beyond that, everything we learned in these 10 episodes is up for grabs.  
>  Warnings: No standard warnings apply.  
> Series: #666foryou  
> Website: ShatterStorm Productions – Doggie Duo  
> Link to: http://bdkk.shatterstorm.net/  
> Archive: ShatterStorm Productions & AO3 only…all others ask for permission & we'll see…  
> Feedback: Constructive criticism is always welcome.
> 
> Author’s Disclaimer: "Damien," "The Omen," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Glen Mazzara, David Seltzer, 20th Century Fox Television, Fox 21, and A&E Television Networks. "American Horror Story," the characters, and situations depicted are the property of Brad Falchuk, Ryan Murphy, Brad Falchuk Teley-Vision, Ryan Murphy Productions, 20th Century Fox Television, and FX Network. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This site is in no way affiliated with "Damien," "The Omen," "American Horror Story," A&E, FX, or any representatives of the actors.
> 
> Author’s Notes: This was written as a birthday present for one of my best friends in the world, KryssiKakes. I'd asked her what she wanted for her story, and she basically asked for this premise. That led me to rewatching the final two episodes of _Murder House_ , just to remind myself how it ended. And then I started thinking of where I'd put this in relation to the canon for both series. I knew it would take place on KryssiKakes' birthday, because I'm a brat like that. So I set it a year before _Damien_ started. It seemed apropos. And I think I kept this pretty damned close to canon compliant on both series, so yay for that! There may or may not be more to this, I'm really not sure. It was really intense for me to write, but I'm _SO_ glad that I did. This goes up there with my all-time favorite fics in this entire project.
> 
> Dedication: This is part of a series of stories to thank the phenomenal creative team of _Damien_ , both in front of and behind the camera.
> 
> Beta: theonlyspl & apps

{November 26, 2014}

"You've got to be kidding me."

Ann Rutledge stares at John Lyons sitting across the expanse of his oak desk from her. He takes a sip of the scotch in his glass before handing her a manila folder. He's still quiet as she begins to flip through the contents of the file.

"This is asinine, John. You and I both know that these are spurious claims and a complete waste of time."

"I agree with you, Ann, but the masses don't have the information we do at their disposal. We need to investigate this."

She stops at the picture of the woman involved, narrowing her eyes at the blast from the 1960s, then closes the folder and all but throws it at him. "Then send Troy out to Los Angeles. I don't have time for this."

"Troy Hendrie couldn't finesse his way out of a wet paper bag with neon signs leading the way. I need your political acumen, your charm, your superior intellect."

"Oh, stop with the pandering, John," she snaps. "It's unbecoming." She can feel him watching her as she picks up the folder again. "I still don't believe that there isn't anyone else who can deal with this, but so be it. When do I leave?"

*****

Before leaving for the airport, Ann pulls more research on the Langdon family. She uses the flight time to look into the claims made about this supposed Antichrist child. She has seen the Antichrist -- from afar, but that matters little -- and has felt his energy. There is no Antichrist but the one she has protected for nearly twenty-five years. Power wouldn't be so cruel as to give her this glimpse at perfection, then take it away for some hell-spawned bastard, would It?

By the time she arrives in Los Angeles, Ann's baggage includes the beginnings of a raging migraine that will only delay the completion of this trip. Rather than waste time sleeping it off, she tosses back a couple of OTC migraine pills with some water in the back of the company car after instructing the driver on where to go.

The house itself gives off that vibe of 1950s ostentation, but "modernized" to the 1970s. The house next to it is… Ann can't quite get past the off-putting vibe it exudes. As clichéd as it sounds, she half-expects to see some sort of liquid evil oozing down the brick walls.

Shaking her head as she steps out of the car helps to clear Ann's head for the task ahead. She heads up the sidewalk to the front door and knocks, lips curled up in her best politician's smile. The door opens, but she doesn't see anyone at first. Then a mischievously dark giggle alerts her to the little blonde boy standing there. She recognizes him from the handful of woefully blurry images in the file.

"Hello there, young man," she says. "Is your" -- how did she address the woman to him? -- "mommy home?"

The clacking of high heels alerts Ann to Constance Langdon's presence, but her voice only validates the impression that Ann cultivated in reading the research.

"Michael, you know Mommy doesn't like you opening the door to strangers," Constance says in that genteel southern accent, smiling up at Ann. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Constance Langdon?"

"I am, but I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting your acquaintance before, Miss…"

"Ann Rutledge." Ann holds out a hand toward her. "I don't mean to intrude, but I need to speak to you about your son."

Constance stares at her for a long moment, and Ann weathers the intense scrutiny. Her own perusal of the woman, and the boy clinging to her leg, is just as intense. Constance finally takes her hand and barely shakes it, then motions toward the rest of the house. "Do come in, Miss Rutledge."

" _Ms._ Rutledge, and thank you."

Ann walks in, still watching the boy from the corner of her eye. He puts off a similar vibe to the house next door. She follows Constance toward the sunny kitchen that looks like it's right off the pages of some post-second world war magazines of her childhood. It matches the woman's appearance in false charm.

"I hope you like lemonade, Miss Rutledge," Constance says. "My Michael absolutely adores it."

Ann bites back the urge to correct this woman on her title, but lets her think she has the upper hand. "Please don't go to any trouble for me. Water would be fine."

Constance nods and uses tongs to get ice cubes into two glasses. One is filled with lemonade, the other with water from the sink. She hands the latter to Ann before settling in her chair across the table. She starts to light up a cigarette, then pauses. "You don't mind, do you? It's a terrible habit to have, especially around my darling boy here, but I can't seem to stop myself."

Knowing cigarette smoke will only make her migraine worse, Ann's smile turns apologetic. "I'm actually allergic to smoke. I hope it won't be a problem. I don't intend to overstay my welcome, of course."

"Not at all." Again with the false sincerity, Constance puts the cigarette back in the pack. "May I ask why you've come to see me?"

Ann lifts the glass for a sip of water, but the sudden chill down her spine makes her pause and set it back on the table. She hasn't felt Power so strongly around her in a long time, and she won't ignore the warning. Fighting the urge to narrow her eyes at the boy, she takes a deep breath and pulls one of her business cards from her purse to slide across the table to Constance.

"I work with a vast global organization with its fingers in a number of major businesses. I specifically work with a division that investigates certain _supernatural_ anomalies."

"You work for the Catholic Church then?" Constance's sneer is palpable as she stares at Ann. "You don't look like any nun I've ever seen before."

Ann chuckles softly, thankful for the distraction. "No, I'm not exactly a fan of God or His minions. I follow a different Power, one that is more primal and powerful." She clears her throat, feeling the boy's stare on her. "Let's just cut to the chase, shall we, Mrs. Langdon?"

"By all means…" Constance gestures as if she has a cigarette anchored between her index and middle fingers.

"There have been rumors brought to my attention that you believe your son here is the Antichrist. I'm here to inform you that this is, in fact, not possible. Just as it's clear that he could only be your son through adoption."

"Now you just hold on a minute--"

"Please, Mrs. Langdon, I have a complete history on you and your family. I'm not sure exactly how this boy is related to you, but neither of us is naïve enough to believe that you're still young enough to have given birth three and a half years ago."

Constance narrows her eyes. "If you intend to besmirch my reputation and good name, I'll have to ask you to leave."

"I'm doing no such thing. I'm simply stating the truth. Personally, I don't care if he's your blood relation or not. My only concern is in squashing these unfounded rumors that he is the Antichrist. This is just not statistically possible at this point in time."

"Why you--"

"That he has the touch of Hell on him is obvious and not even up for debate. But he is not the son of Lucifer. The best you can hope for is that he is the spawn of one of Lucifer's lesser demons, one that clearly defied the hierarchy to beget this child on whatever poor woman bore him. But that doesn't make him the Antichrist."

From the corner of her eye, Ann sees the boy lunge for her, quick as a cobra, but Constance grabs him and pulls him into her lap to pet and coddle him. He snuggles into her chest, glaring at Ann.

"Shh, Michael, it's all right, my sweet boy," Constance says, rubbing his back. " _Miss_ Rutledge was just leaving. You're safe, my special little man."

"Mrs. Langdon--"

"I'm sorry, but I think you've definitely worn out your welcome now. Please leave my home and never return. Next time, I might not be so quick to stop him."

The threat hangs heavily between them. Ann narrows her eyes and nods as she stands. "I understand completely. I believe that's all I have to say to you."

She starts for the front door to escape this house that feels just as contaminated as the one next door. The fiery intensity of those twin stares on her back is painful, but she isn't afraid of them. The Power is still with her, still keeping her safe. At the front door, she pauses and turns to face them. She meets the boy's gaze openly, seeing him as the potential nuisance to Damien that he is. A dark smirk curls up her lips as the boy suddenly gasps and turns to bury his face in Constance's neck. Clearly the Power she follows showed him something that actually frightened him.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Langdon. Make sure you keep your boy safe. Satan doesn't like it when His power is flaunted falsely."

With that, she opens the door and steps outside. She makes her way down the walk to the waiting, wanting to get away from that house as quickly as possible. Her head aches fiercely and all she wants is some relief. As the driver pulls away and begins his way to the hotel she's staying in, Ann pulls out her phone and dials a number.

"We may have a bigger problem here than we initially believed, John," she says when the call is connected.


End file.
